Love
by Micaela1
Summary: Angel's thoughts during 'Beauty and the Beasts'


Title: Love

Title: Love

Author: Micaela ([faith957@yahoo.com][1])

Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be :0(

Rating: Canon from the show, can handle that, can handle this…

Spoilers: Very end of 'Faith, Hope and Trick'. Almost all of 'Beauty and the Beasts' (all Angel's involvement)

Feedback: PLEASE do not make me beg…

Author's notes: This has NOT been beta-ed, so any errors I apologize. This is VERY late in coming, just found it and decided to post it. Figured we could all use a live and breathing Buffy after 'The Gift'… And now, without further ado, I give you…

Love

The cool of the stone floor collided violently with his destroyed body, the cool of the stone providing little solace to his shaking form. The Hell he had just come from was gone, replaced by something just as painful, something just as difficult to bear. He was back on earth (or did he ever leave?), though he did not yet know it. All that was clear to him in his current state was the hunger. The hunger was always there, always would be there, but now it seemed more pronounced. Perhaps it was because for the first time in years he was not being tortured, at least not in the usual sense. It was a thought he would later entertain, the idea of the torture that Hell provided. It was all about him. There was no one else, unless he was watching their death, or being 'visited' by them. There were no one else's problems, no one else was ever in the picture. Yet now, back for mere minutes in the dimension the he came from, and he was already being assaulted by a multitude of sensations: the gentle wind tickling the trees, birds delightedly sharing the events of their day, the crickets serenading the serene evening with their soprano chirps. But most of all was the scent. A scent that called to him, teasing, seductive, loving; the scent begged him never to go. It was overwhelming, ordering him never to go, never to leave, yet he could not place the scent. He lay on the cool stone floor for an unknown amount of time, until at last his body was still. Then slowly he rose on the unused limbs, gripping the floor with his hands and feet until at last the world stopped spinning. Unsteadily he moved to an opening in the room, a break in the monotony of the dank prison he somehow knew had been home. The thought came out of nowhere, yet it made perfect sense, knowing that he and whoever or whatever was assaulting his thoughts had been here together. Yet it made just as much sense that remaining here, waiting, would not return the one that he waited for. He had to go and look for himself. He stumbled out of the mansion on Crawford Street, a strange sight to any passerby's who happened to wander to this part of town this late at night. A rarity indeed, though this night was an exception. A lone man, perhaps mid-twenties, was hurrying up the road, and only once did he glance at the mansion, and whether or not he saw the man gripping the side of the old house like it was a lifeline was indeterminable. He kept walking, living all his years in Sunnydale having taught him well: pretend it's not there, and it might not eat you. Soon, the man was out of sight, having moved up the road, about his own business. The man emerging from the mansion was another story. He slowly moved into the cool night air, carefully placing one foot in front of another, like a child first learning to walk. His trembling hands gripped the side of the building, not able yet to balance on two feet. When the edge of the building ended, he dropped to all fours, adapting what he would later come to realize was a natural predator stance. He made his way into the cool night air, seeking to appease the hunger within. He turned in the direction of the man, following his scent, the faint scent of blood lingering enough to let the demon emerge. Moving on instinct more than conscious thought, he crept up the road, pausing only to re-evaluate where the scent was. His feet made no noise on the dirt road as he took down the man whom he had been following, the sound of them landing making only a soft thud in the night. He clamped his mouth to the vein, sucking him until he was almost dry, stopped by something that he could not place. He backed away from the man, the demon slipping into the recesses of his mind and body, emotions flicking on and off his features, in contrast to the look of shock on the other man's face. The blood was pouring unheeded down his neck, slipping below the black tee-shirt, overwhelming the only rational thought that could have saved the man, and soon he was another body count to add to the morgue.

In Sunnydale, sometimes it was better just to run.

The vampire stared at the corpse by his feet, suddenly aware of his exposed body. The gentle breeze caressed his naked flesh, though it did little to alleviate the sudden onset of shame. Gently, he removed the pants, and gently put them over his legs, his legs feeling confined by the fabric. The expensive trainers were removed, discarded. The socks were removed and slipped over his feet, the torn soles exhaling in relief. He was reaching for the shirt when his senses snapped to attention quicker than soldiers under inspection. His head snapped up, searching for the intruder in the quiet of the night. A twig snapped, his head propelling his body to face the other side of the road, his body in a crouch, every nerve taunt, awaiting his command. The sound of footsteps became clear, and he could no longer contain his energy. He burst into the woods, shooting past a bush. The figure turned to look at him, but he was already gone. He darted again, and again, until he had a clear shot. Then he charged…

…And was thrown by the smell. The scent, so close…so many thoughts, feelings in that one smell, the feeling that there was something he should know, something he should remember. Yet he could not. He fought the best that he could, growling in protest to the losing battle he was raging, both in this thoughts and actions. It wasn't long before the dark enveloped him.

~*~*~*~*~*

When the images in front of him finally took shape, he was locked in a room. Chains hung from each wrist, limiting his range of motion, preventing him from moving very far. He knew he was not back in Hell: the atmosphere was tense, at best, but it was also serene. Chaos did not mix with anger, hate and torture, only to thickly blanket the air; instead the rapid heartbeat was the only thing he could sense, the speeding pace fueled by the fear that was laced with exhaustion. He longed to go to her, longed to ease her pain, to alleviate the fear. Yet he couldn't get to her, couldn't break the chains. She backed away from the confines that held him, fear and pain clearly etched on her face, and that made him only try harder. It wasn't until she sunk to the floor next to outline of his body that he stoped. 

Unheeded, the word 'love' flickered through his mind, though it sounds as foreign as the idea of sanity.

~*~*~*~*~*

She returns later, tries to talk to him, though he has no idea what the words mean. The smell of her, of love, is overbearing, and he doesn't know what to do, how to act. She is calmer now, more relaxed, and he wants to try to get her. To claim her as his own. He waits until she has reached out, touched him, and then he tries to catch her. But she only runs away. A failure, he returns to the corner, trying to fit the pieces of his memory back where they belong. He hears her leave, and it is a long time before he moves again. 

Love again comes to mind, this time accompanied by a feeling of desperation. He pulls on his chains, struggles to get loose, the only thought on his mind is getting to her, though he doesn't stop to think why. It is irrelevant. All will fall into place. 

When the chain breaks, he flies out of the mansion for the second time, the wind on his heels. He follows his instinct until he reaches her, his love. The danger in the air is thick, and he does the only thing he understands, he attacks the danger. Attacks and does not back off until it is obliterated. Sometime during the fight, the demon emerges, and it is not until the body lies at his feet that he returns once more.

The he knows. This is the Slayer, the strongest girl in the world, yet she does not want the violence, she wants the peace, the love that he knows he can somehow provide. He sinks to his knees and embraces her tightly, and before he can compute the thought, he is saying her name over and over, as her tears silently trickle down her face.

This time, 'love' is accompanied by a feeling of pure joy and serenity. 

~*~*~*~*~Finish~*~*~*~*~

Feedback, please!

   [1]: mailto:faith957@yahoo.com



End file.
